


12 Things

by MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: My last fill for the Evakteket SKAMenger Hunt – for the prompt "the number twelve".A million thanks you's to H, Immy and Kit for hosting another one of these awesome challenges. You guys are the best!And thanks to P for reading this through for me <3Happy New Year, everybody!





	12 Things

**Author's Note:**

> My last fill for the Evakteket SKAMenger Hunt – for the prompt "the number twelve".
> 
> A million thanks you's to H, Immy and Kit for hosting another one of these awesome challenges. You guys are the best!
> 
> And thanks to P for reading this through for me <3
> 
> Happy New Year, everybody!

Isak’s head hurts.

Not the kind of jarring headache that makes you want to lie in bed, or throw up. Just a low-key, disturbing murmur, like a dull pressure across his forehead.

The fluorescent lights in the ceiling high up above do nothing to relieve it.

Neither does the radio jingle stuck on repeat in the speakers somewhere above, or the sight of twenty different brands of canned beans on the shelf in front of him.

He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes, gritting his teeth as he thinks of the reason why he’s here in the supermarket at all.

Even had offered to go shopping to begin with – he always does, especially when he senses that Isak isn’t really up for it – but Isak had just had that creeping restless feeling in his bones all day and just needed to get _out_ of the apartment.

Ideally, they’d have gone together, but they really, _really,_ needed to clean as well, and now it’s only two and a half hours until their New Year’s dinner starts and he really, _really_ needs to remember those twelve things he’s supposed to come home with.

Not for the first time since he got to the store, his hand twitches around the phantom of a paper note he so wishes he had right now.

It had, as usual, started as a stupid joke, born from their banter – Even throwing out that the human brain could actually only remember a maximum of seven things at a time, and Isak countering that it is an ability that can be trained, and that memory champions – yes, he does roll his eyes at the fact that he used the word _memory champions –_ have methods for remembering a _lot_ more than that, and Even countered that forgetting actually is one of the fundamentals of learning new stuff and remembering other, more important things –

And now he’s standing here in front of the canned vegetables shelf, trying to remember the eighth out of the twelve items he’s supposed to buy.

Originally, they were supposed to have a party tonight – not a big one, maybe ten or so people. But then, out of the blue, Eskild was going to his new boyfriend’s cabin, Vilde had to go take care of something family-related and, of course, Magnus had to go with her, and then Sana had to work, and Yousef decided to go to Elias’ instead, and suddenly they were down to Eva and Jonas, and him and Even.

And the party had turned into a couple’s dinner.

Not that a part of him isn’t secretly proud to have an actual _couple’s dinner._ Part of him is, still, after two years, kind of amazed that Even and him are a _couple_ – living together, shopping and cleaning and buying furniture together, and that he gets to hold Even’s hand in public and call him his boyfriend. But, to be honest, this dinner thing, small as it may seem, also freaks him out a little. In a way, it makes him feel adult in a way that he’s not sure he’s ready for.

There are other, much more serious ways he’s been forced to adult up until now, but still, this is somehow weirder. Maybe because this is more like the kind of thing that he’s supposed to do as a nineteen-year-old.

And so, his brain somehow loopholed him into this: shuffling past the shelves, looking for something he’s forgotten how to remember.

Once more, he looks down into the basket. They’re making lasagna, and that should make it easy enough. Tomatoes, onions, garlic, minced meat, and lasagna sheets. Milk, because they were almost out, and they need it for the bechamel sauce. Butter, for the same reason.

He knows there’s one more thing for the lasagna, and then three more stupid things that he _knows_ very well has nothing to do with lasagna, but that they need nonetheless.

Cheese? No, they still have a huge chunk left from the cheddar Even’s parents insisted on sending home with them on Christmas Eve. And they have plenty of flour for the bechamel.

Fuck. Lasagna is Even’s thing, not his – he can cook well enough, but that particular thing has just become Even’s task, for some reason.

Aimlessly, he starts wandering down the aisle, hoping for a strike of inspiration from what he can spot. Maybe some kind of spice?

That _does_ ring a bell, actually.

He stops in front of the spice rack, letting his eyes dart back and forth over the hundreds of tiny glass jars. His mom used to put curry in the meat sauce – but that’s not it...

Oregano. There it is.

Quickly, before his brain can deceive him further, he snatches the jar off the shelf and throws it in the basket. And as if by divine intervention, one synapse opens to another and the image of a head of lettuce shines up in front of his eyes. Nine.

There’s no other revelations to be found in the vegetables section, however. His eyes sweep across the heaps of tomatoes and carrots without any flash of recognition.

Another walk down one of the aisles, and all of a sudden, he sees the boxes of candles on the bottom shelf. Candles. And – how could he forget – ice cream for dessert.

He takes the long tour of the store on his way to the ice cream freezer, but the twelfth and final item still evades him.

He _could_ just call Even and put and end to this. And he knows that Even wouldn’t call him out on it – at least not _too_ bad, just tease him a little and call him the _master_ of remembering and tilt his head to the side even though Isak can’t see it through the phone. And Isak would roll his eyes on his respective end and everything would be fine.

But he’s not fighting Even at this point, he’s fighting his own brain, and he’s gonna fucking win.

Except, ten minutes later, his head hurts worse than ever, and the plastic ice cream jar is starting to get wet, soaking into the paper box of lasagna sheets, and he still hasn’t got a clue.

Standing in front of the apothecary shelf near the register, he lets his eyes wander – toothpaste? No, he bought a new one last week. Hand soap for the kitchen? No. It isn’t lube, either, but –

Fuck it. It’ll have to do. They’ll run out sooner than later, in any case.

 

* * *

 

As Even unpacks the groceries, Isak puts their shoes away into the minimal wardrobe in the hall. And he only rolls his eyes once as he hears Even chuckle in the kitchen. He already knows what it’s for.

Even smiles at him as he comes through the doorway.

“Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to laugh at you,” he says, and looks a little sheepish. “And I didn’t mean to trick you either, I just couldn’t resist.”

Isak furrows his brow. “What do you mean, trick me?”

“Well,” Even scratches his neck, looking down at his toes, and then up at Isak, “there were – there were actually only eleven items on the list.”

Isak’s mouth falls agape. “What?”

“I thought you’d count for yourself and see right through it!” Even takes a step towards him. “But then you just put your jacket on and went straight out the door before I had time to say anything and then I saw your phone on the table, so I couldn’t call you –”

Isak puts his hands on Even’s shoulder and pushes at him, just a little, for good measure. “Fuck you,” he says, but Even’s eyes glitter as he takes a step backwards, and then forwards again, into Isak’s space.

“Well,” Even says, tilting his head to the side, throwing a glance at the bottle of lube standing on the kitchen table, “you _did_ kind of prepare for that.”

And then he laughs, that silent laugh where his eyes crinkle and his shoulders shake and his pointed teeth make little indents in his lower lip, and Isak is defenseless once again.

“How long do we have?” He bites his lip as Even looks to the side to inspect the digits on the microwave.

Even looks back at him, eyes full of mischief. “If we make the lasagna together, we’re good.”

“Deal.” Isak smiles back, before he snakes a hand up around Even’s neck, and draws him in for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this year has really been something. I started writing for this fandom in March this year, and I then I just couldn't seem to stop?  
> Thank you, everyone, for reading, kudosing and commenting on everything I've written so far – I love you all. I hope you'll join me next year - I'm not done with writing SKAM fic, that's for sure!  
> Happy New Year, and see you in 2019!  
> Meanwhile, come find me on tumblr!


End file.
